


Never Return What's Stolen

by Diary



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 07, Angst and Feels, Bechdel Test Fail, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode AU: s07e05 Eastwatch, Established Gilly/Samwell Tarly, Established Relationship, Family, Female Protagonist, Female-Centric, Female-Male Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Introspection, Living Together, Love, Loyalty, POV Female Character, POV Gilly (ASoIaF), Post-Season/Series 06 AU, Romance, Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 12:00:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11805570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: An AU look at Sam/Gilly during Eastwatch. Complete.





	Never Return What's Stolen

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Game of Thrones.

When Sam gets home, Gilly immediately sees he’s been crying.

“Sam, what is it?”

Sniffling, he says, “Gilly, you should be asleep.”

Grabbing his hand, she gets all the pillows off the bed, puts them on the floor, throws furs over them, and manages to pick little Sam up and place him on top. Guiding Sam onto the bed, she props herself up on her elbow, runs a hand through his hair, and wishes he’d look properly at her. “If you need to wait, we can just lie here.”

Wiping his eyes, he shakes his head and tries to get up. “Put little Sam back, Gilly. I shouldn’t have-”

Lightly digging her elbow into his stomach, she says, “You know better. Please, Sam. Let me help.”

“Dickon and my father- They’re both dead.”

Gods guide Dickon, she prays.

She’d never had any use for him, but unlike Randyll Tarly, she didn’t outright despise him. He was better to Sam than their father was, and whatever happened, Sam could take the loss of his father better than he could his little brother.

Randyll Tarly wasn’t old, but he’d lived a full life, married, had children, been a decent enough father to the ones besides Sam, and he was a soldier; death was always a possibility he faced. Dickon, on the other hand, he was just a simple lad who liked to hunt and blindly followed his father. He might have been able to properly defend House Tarly with a sword, but he couldn’t have made it as great as she knows Sam could have.

House Tarly’s loss was her and her son’s gain, but now, there might not even be a House Tarly, and she isn’t sure what this will mean.   

This isn’t important right now, though, and making sure to keep her tone gentle, she asks, “What happened?”

“The dragon queen,” he says through a shudder. “The one Jon’s working with. My father- I could be proud of him. Do you think that makes me- It feels as if it should. But him refusing to bend the knee, even though, objectively, Daenerys Targaryen hasn’t done anywhere near the horrible things Cersei Lannister has- That was who he was. He died strong and with a clear conscience, and if he had to die, I would have wanted that for him. But Dickon-”

She can feel tears falling on his face, and muffled sounds escape him.

Curling tighter against him, she kisses his neck and gently tugs at his hair. “It’s alright. Not what happened, but feeling this way. Whatever you feel, just don’t hide from me, Sam. I’m here.”

When the crying fades, he hoarsely says, “He forced me to take the black for Dickon’s sake. Dickon was not only his heir, he was his pride. He never would have been soft enough to- but anyone could see by the way he looked and talked that Dickon was so special to him. Damn his conscience and pride!”

They both stiffen and look down onto the floor.

Little Sam is sleeping peacefully.

Taking a deep breath, he quietly says, “He should have bent the knee. He should have made Dickon. He should have begged for- for Dickon to be imprisoned, sent to the wall, something. Knowing what my father did was wrong didn’t mean I cared that Dickon was made heir. He was my brother, and I was glad our father never treated him the way he did me. But in the end- his heir, the son he was proud of, the son he would have killed me for, he didn’t protect him. I don’t know what I would have done, but even when I was a coward afraid of my own shadow, I would have, at least, begged for my brother’s sake. I would have tried to do something.”

“Maybe, he did,” Sam continues. “I don’t know the details. But I wasn’t Head of House Tarly. I’m not a warrior. I wasn’t charged with ensuring my heir lived long enough to be married and have heirs of his own. If I’d failed- well, who would have been surprised. But for him-”

She waits.

“Besides Dickon, though- I never wanted him dead. He loved my mother and sisters. He always did what he believed right. He wasn’t cruel to them. I- he should still be alive, too. I know he was never going to be proud of me. Love me. And I’d stop hoping and dreaming a long time ago, but there was still so much- I thought, perhaps, someday, I could say certain things to him. But what’s the point of saying them to a dead man? Typical Sam, only waiting until the recipient is dead to say what he was too scared to say alive.”

“What’s ‘recipient’?”

Pulling her down fully and wrapping his arms around her, he answers.

“You’re brave, Sam. Look at all you’ve done for me and our baby. All the help you’ve given Jon and what you did for that grayscale knight.”

“I was sure he’d come for Heartsbane. Or at least, send Dickon. I wasn’t sure how we’d handle it when he did, but- he should have done that. He and Dickon might still be alive.”

She wants him to believe he’s brave, but now isn’t the time to push the subject, she knows.

Stroking his chest, she asks, “What can I do?”

He sighs, and almost everything seems to drain from him. “Get little Sam, Gilly, and let’s all just go to bed.”

After they’re all settled, she whispers, “Sam?”

“I love you,” he says. “It’s- it’s important to say that, now. I love you and Sam.”

“I know. I love you, too. We both do.” Navigating around the sleeping little Sam, she kisses him.

Soon, he falls asleep, and she knows she needs to, too, but her mind won’t let her.

It’s pointless to think of what might have been, but she’s found herself wondering before: If someone had told her, scared, unable to read, focused on nothing but keeping her baby, that staying at the wall once they got there would eventually mean she’d be dragged into two wars, one she didn’t believe in, would she have taken her baby and left?

Sam might have tried to convince her not to, but he would have let her go.

If someone had told her there were other options than Mole’s Town past the wall-

She knows the answer.

For all she’s neither fully wildling and will never be fully crow, she was stolen, and she doesn’t mind it. Somewhere between running away with him and giving him what only Craster had ever taken, this big, stumbling crow with a thimble that looked at glass with wide eyes and used the strangest sounding words she’d ever heard became a man, a tall, strong man who was cleverer than Craster and smelt so different, and she’d been scared.

Then, came his kindness, the type she could understand more clearly than him asking her to keep his mother’s thimble safe. He understood the fact cruel people existed all too well and refused to be like them, he sang to her baby, and he was loyal to those he swore vows to.  

She wanted her son to grow up to have all his good traits.

Baby Sam couldn’t do that if the three of them weren’t together, and since he’d taken them from Craster’s, he had a responsibility towards her and the baby, she reasoned.

Except, this was only partly true. She couldn’t witness his brilliant mind in action if they weren’t together, she couldn’t feel his solid body against her and his gentle arms around her, she couldn’t talk to him about her fears about baby Sam and know he’d listen, and occasionally, even understand if they weren’t.

He’s made waking up with him and little Sam one of the best parts of her days. Eventually, little Sam won’t be little, and somehow, they’ll find another bed for him, and he might get married or just leave home for some faraway place, but when she’s old, she still wants to lie down next to Sam at night, have him put an arm over her, and occasionally wake to find herself being pulled back away from the edge by the arm.

(At this point, she’s not sure she wouldn’t fall off without the arm there.)

She never liked doing what Craster demanded of his wives in bed, she always prayed she’d never conceive a child, but then, Sam- it might not be right to say he made her, because, he’s never made her do anything Craster did, but in that room with him lying hurt, she ended up joining with him, and she’d liked it. She’d wanted to do it again, and she likes the fact it’s now part of their lives when they can manage to leave little Sam somewhere safe for a bit.

Not during this war, no, she drinks tansy tea regularly, but she wants him to put a baby in her someday. Boy or girl, she honestly wouldn’t care. She wouldn’t pray every night for it to be a girl. She could give birth, be told what she’d had, and simply thank the gods for having a healthy birth. Another son, the daughter she hoped for, maybe even more than just two children.

Now, little Sam blearily opens his eyes, crawls up onto one of the pillows, and promptly falls back asleep.

She moves closer against Sam, feels his arm wrap around her a bit more, closes her eyes, and starts counting every rise and fall of his stomach.

…

When she and Sam are reading, Sam yells, and all she can think to do is correct him on how the number they were talking about was about steps, not shits. She never gave Craster cause to yell, Randyll Tarly wasn’t the type to yell when he was angry, and Jon Snow’s yelling, it was never directed at her.

She’d really like to know how common these annulments, men putting aside their rightful wives, are, but even not knowing exactly what to do, she knows broaching the subject right now wouldn’t be good.

Sam stares at her for a long moment, and then, little Sam makes a happy noise.

Grateful he wasn’t scared, she looks between the two.

Picking up one of his own books, not the Citadel’s, Sam hands it to him and comes over to her. “Here.” Picking her up, he sits down and sets her on his lap. “I’m sorry, Gilly,” he quietly says.

“Is this still about your father and brother or something else?”

“Both.”

“What can I do?”

“Well, you can start by forgiving me,” he answers with a soft, sad look in his eyes.

“It’s not the first time either of us has gotten irritated or mad, Sam." She runs her hand through his hair. “I know you’d never hurt us. But thank you. For apologising.”

Nodding, he kisses her cheek. “Look, Gilly, I’ll be back soon. I need to go right now. But we’ll talk more when I do, yeah?”

She nods.

He sets her back in the chair with a kiss on the head, goes over to kiss little Sam, and leaves.

…

When he comes back, he has his bag and pockets stuffed with books and scrolls, and he’s never nicked so many from the Citadel at one time.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do if I ever come face-to-face with the dragon queen. If she demands I bend the knee, too. The fact Jon’s working with her- well, I’m just going to ignore that for as long as I can.  I believe in him, Gilly. I believe his North needs him to be King. And I know the threat he’s facing. So- I have to go to him and offer whatever help he needs. The maesters here are too concerned with documentation than sharing helpful information, never mind taking any real action to help.”

“Are we leaving now?”

Nodding slightly, he says, “I’ve learned not to try to stop it being were one of us goes, the other two follow. You’re mine, and I’m you’re yours, and little Sam is ours. But, Gilly, I need you to understand, if you felt it too risky, I wouldn’t- you and little Sam could decide not. This war is more dangerous the closer North we go, as I said, I don’t know what might happen with the dragon queen and me, and- when it comes to you and him, I might have mucked it up a time or two, but all I’ve ever wanted is to keep you both safe.”

Little Sam will likely grow up to be more crow than her, but he’s always going to have her Free Folk blood running through him. She’ll do anything she has to, to make sure he survives, but she knows she and Sam might end up dying due to these wars. Who sits on the Iron Throne, she doesn’t care. Stopping the dead who took all her brothers and wanted her son from taking the whole world, this is important.

She doesn’t want to die, but she knows Sam simply can’t hide himself away, no matter how much she wishes it, and she’s not going to hide herself away while the man she loves, the father of her baby, the man she knelt in front of a heart tree and promised herself to forever, who did the same, risks himself. He once stole her, and she’s never letting him let her go.

“Are we taking all these books? We don’t have much clothes or toys to pack, but Heartsbane takes up a lot of room.”

“I’ll wear it. It’s important you and little Sam, especially, wrap up. It’s cold out tonight.”

…

She writes a note of apology to the owner of the tavern where she’s been working, walks down, and slips it underneath the door. Hopefully, there won’t be a crowd in the morning, and Old Marnie can find someone new before lunch.

When she gets back, Sam’s brought a wagon and is loading it up. “I left next month’s rent with a note in a box on Goodwife Telina’s doorstep,” he says.

Inside, she wraps little Sam in furs and takes him out to the wagon. Blinking blearily and cuddling up against her, he doesn’t fuss about his sleep being disturbed. 

Once Sam is sitting the wagon, she feels the need to ask, “Are you sure you want to do this? You always wanted to be a maester.”

And if Randyll Tarly had allowed this, she thinks, there’s a chance neither he nor Dickon would be dead. The gods gave you the most precious son any crow could ask for, and you chose a common boy with dreams full of hunting and a talent with a sword over him. Look where it got you. Look where it got the innocent man you chose.

Worse, look where it got Sam. He lost everything, he finally got a chance at getting some of it back, and now, he’s willingly giving it all up, again, because of his dreadful father. Again.

She truly wishes Dickon hadn’t been killed, but understanding why Sam also mourns for his father, she simply can’t share in it.

“I’m tired of reading about the achievements of better men.”

He leans back, and stroking his face, she kisses him.

When it breaks, he starts the wagon, and she presses little Sam closer and softly starts to sing.


End file.
